


Thrice-born Prince

by AlacritiousEidolon (p_3a)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Body Horror, Dissociation, Gen, Hallucinations, Nausea, Past Character Death, emetophobia warning, multiple system integration warning, trauma-based median system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/AlacritiousEidolon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrathion's mind seems to enjoy visiting various unpleasantries upon him. This is, thankfully, one of the rarer ones.</p><p>This fic takes the "three whelps fused into one" thing to one of its logical ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrice-born Prince

Really, there were a lot of awful things that had happened to Prince Wrathion since he’d begun his existence. It was difficult to single out any one of them as the worst - or, indeed, the best. But if he had to choose… then this feeling would certainly be, if not  _the_  worst, among the list.

He’d dreamed about the Badlands, that morning, and woken up… not whole. Felt as though the body was scattered in pieces across the bed; rolled over somehow, feeling sick, and then realised that he was not “he”, but “they”. Three whelps, all in one living body, somehow; three fatally incomplete, hurt, frightened whelps.

They avoided getting out of bed for a while. The smallest of the three of them was pushing for them to leave - he had paperwork to be doing, he peeped, they couldn’t stay sleeping, but of course he’d say that. He was the only one of the three of them with a near-complete head. The largest of them had the rest of the skull, the part the smallest was missing - she said that they were hurting too much, to do that, and they needed to let the body rest or it’d fall out from under them.

The middle one was silent.

The smallest one conceded for a little while, but grew increasingly restless. He had down past the neck and most of an arm, so he tried once again to sit up; the largest one whined in protest, but she had part of the other arm and one of their legs, and together they could mostly do it. Mostly. They were unsteady on their feet; their right leg almost went out from under them when the ankle, belonging to the middle one, stubbornly refused to engage, followed by the left actually giving way, when its knee, also the middle’s, failed to lock.

The fall must have shocked the middle one into waking somehow, though, because they found themselves able to pull their body upright, using the right arm and left hand - which were just as much the middle one’s as their own. One of the wings was his, too, but that didn’t matter as much at the moment. The smallest one wondered idly whether this would have been easier or harder if they’d found themselves waking into their whelp shapeshift instead of their humanoid one.

The guards outside must have heard the sudden thump as they’d fallen, because Right poked her head around the door. “Is everything okay, Your Majesty?”

The smallest one lifted the head to look at her, and though the throat was his, the words locked in his mouth for a few moments. “…help me up,” he said, quietly. “And to the desk. I won’t be seeing anyone today.”

Right hid the worry on her face and nodded. Moving over, she looped her arm under the smallest’s left arm and the largest’s right arm, wrapped across the upper back which mostly belonged to the largest - all three felt like they were going to throw up, from how disorientating the touches were, the input across multiple bodies to multiple minds where there should only be one of each.

It was impossible, the smallest one mused, to know how much of this was truly a consequence of the Titans’ travesty, and how much was simply his mind being naturally cruel to him. He supposed it didn’t matter - it was happening to him, either way.

They found their body sat at the desk, as requested - leaning heavily on the only elbow he had belonging to him, the smallest one thanked Right and dismissed her. Carefully, the largest one and the middle one reached their arm out for the quill and ink pot; shakily, awkwardly, the largest and the smallest worked together to open the ink pot with their hand. The nausea swelled again as the sensation of gripping the quill between the smallest’s fingertips and the largest’s thumb washed over their senses. This wasn’t going to be easy.

"But it must be done," murmured the smallest; and he began to read over the things he was expected to sign.

Those thoughts didn’t reach the largest one, who only wished she was back tucked under her mother’s wing; and they didn’t reach the middle one, who didn’t have any thoughts at all, not any more. But they all, more or less, hoped that they would be resolved back into one being sooner rather than later. This form of existence was more painful for them than it had any right to be.


End file.
